Executive Order
by Soleya
Summary: When President Hayes goes to examine the workings of the SGC personally, he learns a valuable lesson.
1. My Fair Gilligan

**Chapter One: My Fair Gilligan**

For the first time in a long time, Major Sam Carter stared at the spinning Stargate with a nearly debilitating sense of dread. She bit her lip and glanced sideways at the man standing just to her right. From the tension in his muscles, she knew he felt the same.

"This is a bad idea, sir. A really, really bad idea." Her voice was low, just loud enough for him to hear without alerting the other sixty-some people in the embarkation room.

"I know, Carter," Colonel O'Neill answered, just as softly. "I told him. Hammond told him. The Joint Chiefs told him. If I thought he'd listen to you, I'd send you over there in a heartbeat."

She let out an audible breath. "Yes, sir." But she looked over her other shoulder anyway, past Teal'c, to where a group of men in dark suits and one woman in a bright red sweater stood. In the center of the group stood one very newly inaugurated president.

After weeks of fighting with Vice President Kinsey, Henry Hayes had decided that the only surefire way to decide on the efficacy of General Hammond and SG-1 was to see it for himself – in action. And no matter how many people had told him that 'uninhabited' and 'secure' didn't mean 'safe,' the president wanted to see the technology and opportunities for himself. Worse, as Commander in Chief, there wasn't a person on the planet who could tell the man no. And so the embarkation room was packed to the gills with five SG teams, thirty Secret Service agents, an ambassador and three presidential aides.

"Carter," the colonel said reassuringly, though she wasn't sure exactly who he was trying to comfort, "it's just three hours."

"Yes, sir," she murmured back. "A three-hour tour."

His head spun so fast he thought he'd hurt himself. "Well, when you put it like that," he muttered, well aware of the fate of _that_ crew.

The wormhole exploded into life, and Sam took a tense breath, clutching her P-90 a little closer to her chest.

"After you, Professor," Jack said softly, and the total lack of levity in his voice removed any of the humor from his words.

She set her jaw. "Yes, sir, Skipper, sir."

"Oh, come on. I don't even get to be Gilligan?" He motioned her past, and this time she obeyed.

Bad idea, indeed.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yes, the chapter names are episode titles from "Gilligan's Island." I couldn't resist. :-) Thanks for reading!


	2. How to Be a Hero

**Chapter Two: How to Be a Hero**

"This is incredible," President Hayes murmured, making his way carefully down the worn stone steps. "It looks just like-"

"Minnesota?" Jack put in.

The older man looked up in surprise. "I was thinking Wisconsin, but close enough."

The colonel gave him a rough nod. "This way, Mister President. The ships are just over that rise."

"Lead the way, Colonel." The president, followed by his aides and the ambassador and surrounded by Secret Service agents, headed down the path after Colonel O'Neill. SG-3 stayed behind, guarding the still-open Stargate while the UAV buzzed overhead. The three other teams had long since vanished into the woods with members of the Secret Service, creating a large perimeter.

It was a little less than a mile trek to the ridge, and Colonel O'Neill could tell the exact moment when the president caught eye of what lay in the valley beyond. "Holy buckets," he murmured.

"Yes, sir," Jack answered cheerfully, and he pointed to the ships one by one. "That's a Goa'uld death glider – their smallest and most agile ship. And there's our version, the X-302. And the big honkin' one – that's Prometheus."

"The X-303," Major Carter put in. When the president glanced at her, she assumed her best parade rest stance and added, "sir."

"Major… Carter, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

Amazing and unbelievable as the ships before him were, the president took a moment to watch her as she looked out over the valley. The pride on her face was evident. "You designed these, right?"

A smile flashed across her face, but she quickly schooled her features into something more professional. "I… helped, sir."

"Yes, Mister President, she did," Jack insisted, and a blush crept up her cheeks.

"Sir, Colonel Ronson and the crew of Prometheus are waiting for you. We can walk, if you'd like a closer view, or he'll beam us aboard," Carter offered.

His eyes went wide. "Beam? Like Star Trek?"

"Yes, sir."

Carter's huge grin aside, the president looked decidedly unsure about that venture. "That might be a bit much for today. I think I'll walk. Besides, if all I wanted to see was the inside of our own ship, I could have done that on Earth."

The female aid in the red sweater and heels looked decidedly unhappy about his decision to walk – the last mile had not been kind on her feet. Major Carter caught Colonel O'Neill's eye and raised an eyebrow in her direction, making him grin. "Ginger," she mouthed.

He shook his head, giving a split-second gesture that indicated he didn't think the woman had the knockers to be Ginger. Sam rolled her eyes. "You know," he said softly as they began to walk, keeping the words private, "those heels would look fabulous on you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not mucking through the forest on another planet."

"Yeah, you're right. Forest mucking requires something much strappier."

Her laugh was cut short by a radio transmission from Colonel Ronson. "SG-leader, this is Prometheus, do you copy?"

"Yeah, Prometheus, this is SG-leader. We have Eagle One and are approaching you on foot."

"Negative, SG-leader. Do not approach."

Colonel O'Neill held up a sharp fist, and the entire delegation came to a halt. "What's going on, Ronson?"

"A mothership just dropped out of hyperspace and is launching gliders and transports. We're preparing to disembark to intercept."

"How the hell?"

Jack spun to his second, catching her gaze. "Not important. Fall back to the Gate. Now. Teal'c, you're with me."

"Yes, sir." She stepped past him and put a hand on President Hayes's shoulder. "This way, sir. And quickly."

Daniel and fell in beside her as she broke into a jog – as fast as she thought she could push the president to travel. Around her, the Secret Service agents were yelling among themselves, but Carter wasn't listening. Between scanning the skies and forests and listening to her radio, she didn't have the time.

"Colonel Reynolds," Jack's voice crackled, "Eagle One is coming back to you with Carter. Hold the Gate for home. SG teams, close perimeter. Those Jaffa are gonna start hitting ground any minute."

"Major Carter?" the president called out from behind her.

Sam dropped back to meet him, to speak over her ever-crackling radio, but didn't slow her pace. "SG-3 is dialing Earth, sir. My orders are to get you through the Gate to home."

"And that'll work?"

She looked over at him very briefly before resuming her scans, her P-90 held tightly to her chest. "No matter what happens, Mister President, you stay with me. If I go down, you follow Daniel."

"Negative, sir," the SS agent on the other side of the president argued. "Stick with me."

"Respectfully, Agent, you have no idea what you're dealing with," she shot back. Gunfire erupted to their left, and a stray staff blast flew in front of them and hammered into a tree.

"What the hell was that?" the president demanded.

"For instance – avoid those," she called back.

"Yeah, I got that," the agent yelled. A second blast knocked down a suit directly to her left, and he fell with a cry. Another immediately took his place in the circle around the president. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the aide in heels stumble and go down, and the ambassador hauled her to her feet.

"All SG units, SG-5 is taking heavy fire to the south of Eagle One. Southern route is not secure. Repeat, southern route is not secure."

"Copy that," Sam snapped into her radio. "Sir?"

"Standing orders, Major," Colonel O'Neill replied. "Teal'c and I are going for that death glider."

"Crazy man," she muttered under her breath, but hit the talk button and answered, "Yes, sir. Good luck."

An all-too familiar noise hissed over the radio chatter, and Sam spun around. "Rings!" she cried.

The Secret Service may not have known what that meant, but the look on her face and her death grip on her P-90 was enough. The rear contingent turned and formed a wall behind them, their MP-5s at ready, as a group of Jaffa materialized behind them in the middle of the path. Sam stopped to help, but Daniel smacked her in the shoulder.

"The president!" he yelled, taking a knee as weapons fire erupted. "Go!"

Sam nodded and turned back, sprinting to rejoin the group still moving toward the Gate. From the radio chatter, things were bad all around – Jaffa contingents moving in from their left and behind them. The X-302s had deployed and were fighting the death gliders with varying degrees of success, but gliders were already heading toward the Gate. Transports had landed, and enemies were everywhere.

A part of her was glad she couldn't hear the pilots' chatter. She didn't really want to know what Teal'c and the colonel had gotten themselves into.

"Major Carter, status on Eagle One?" It was Colonel Reynolds.

"Four minutes from the Gate, Colonel. Have you established a wormhole?"

"Negative, Major. The DHD has been tampered with."

She could feel Hayes's eyes boring into the side of her head, and her lips tightened in realization. "They knew we were coming, Colonel. It's an ambush."

"Agreed, Major. Bosco's trying to fix it. We are holding the clearing."

"Copy that."

"Sam, you have gliders incoming!" Daniel's voice screamed through the tiny speaker.

She swore. "To the right! Hit the trees!"

The whole group moved to the right of the cleared path and under partial cover of the trees as a glider swooped by and the dirt path exploded in flames. But staff weapon fire came from the trees, as well, and the right flank of SS agents fell away to combat them. "All SG teams, Eagle One's position is compromised. We have glider fire from above and Jaffa to the north. We need support!"

But she got no answer, and the implication was clear – everybody else had problems of their own. They were seriously outmanned.

"Prometheus, this is Carter. Can you beam Eagle One aboard?"

When Ronson responded, the background was heavy with explosions. "Negative, Major. We are under heavy fire."

Her hand went back to her P-90 as she muttered a grim curse. "Major?" The president's voice shook a little. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Negative, sir. We will get you home."

"Major?"

"Those are my orders, sir," she responded woodenly. "Move faster."

"Yes, ma'am," he panted and picked up the pace.

The Gate came into their line of view, and Sam knew immediately they had serious problems. The Gate was dark, the center circle that should have held the event horizon empty. A set of legs poked out from under the DHD. "Bosco, status."

"This is gonna take awhile, ma'am," he answered.

"You have ninety seconds," she snapped back as the group dashed for the Gate. The remaining members of SG-3 faced south, firing into the woods.

One of the chevrons lit up.

"They got it," the SS agent called.

"Oh, no, they didn't," she yelled back, grabbing for her radio. "SG-3, you have an incoming wormhole. Get out of there!"

"Copy that," Reynolds acknowledged, and Bosco yanked himself out from the DHD and grabbed for his weapon.

Carter pointed to the treeline off to the right, just past the Gate. "There. Hit the trees," she ordered.

"There are Jaffa in the trees!" the agent protested.

"Yeah, and in ten seconds there will be streams of them coming through that wormhole," she argued. "Our chances are better with cover."

"John, do it," the president called.

Sam's hand snapped back to her radio. "All SG teams, the Stargate is non-operational. We have incoming Jaffa. Repeat – we have incoming Jaffa through the Gate. Eagle One heading northwest into the treeline. We need air support!"

"SG-3 has your six, Major," Reynolds' voice assured her as the team began to fall in around them. They were just past the Stargate when she heard the event horizon whoosh open, and she was sprinting, then, grabbing the president's suit and pulling him along with her. Staff blasts erupted all around them.

In the trees, she pushed the president toward two of the remaining Secret Service agents. "Find cover and keep him down," she ordered, taking a knee not twenty feet into the trees. Bosco and Penhall were in front of her, just inside the treeline, and she, SG-3, and the remaining Secret Service agents created a wall of fire as the civilians rushed deeper into the trees behind them.

It was a nightmare. Bullets and staff blasts and explosions were everywhere, and Sam struggled to avoid tunnel vision as she fought. Fire a clip, cover, reload. Fire a clip, cover, reload. Only once did she take the time to click her radio and scream, "Where's my air support?"

Penhall went down first, followed quickly by some of the SS agents, and she felt a pang of guilt that she didn't even know their names. The men fell one by one as the Jaffa contingent grew closer, closer…

A death glider swung past the Gate, firing wildly, and she realized with a gasp that it was firing not at them, but at the Jaffa. It was the colonel – it had to be. And as the Jaffa scattered, confused, her radio crackled again, and Colonel Reynolds spoke. "Major, get Eagle One back. We're gonna lead them east."

"Yes, sir," she answered, and immediately ceased firing as the three remaining members of SG-3 started to move to her left. The Jaffa, of course, followed SG-3's fire, and she crawled through the trees to where the president lay. An agent was sprawled on top of him, and Carter knew by the look in Hayes's eyes that he was dead. She rolled the agent back and put a hand on his shoulder. "We need to move, sir."

"Major…"

"Later, Mister President. Now move." And as they crawled away from battlefield, against everything Sam had ever been trained to do, she sent up a small prayer for the men she was leaving behind.


	3. They're Off and Running

**Chapter Three: They're Off and Running**

Carter knew it only felt like an eternity when the female aide stumbled, fell, and didn't get up. The ambassador – Tremaine, the president had called him – tried to help her again, but she shook her head. "Can't we stop?" she huffed.

The gunfire and glider blasts were muffled by then, hidden through the trees, but Sam knew that they were by no means safe. Most of the Jaffa were probably on the front, but not all.

Just as she wasn't. Instead, she was hiding, babysitting a politician, an ambassador, three aides, and one very pissed off Secret Service agent.

The only agent, as far as she knew, that had survived. And once again, her heart clenched at the thought of her fellow soldiers at the Gate, outmanned, outgunned, and caught by surprise.

"Catch your breath," the agent ordered, obviously still under the impression that he was in charge.

Carter shook her head. "Not here. There." There were several downed trees to their right, and she checked the area quickly before letting the civilians settle in between them, gasping for breath.

"Don't get too comfy. We're not staying long," she ordered. "And if anything happens, hit the dirt and stay there."

She had knocked down the volume on her radio as they snuck away, anxious not to draw attention, but she snuck the level up again in an attempt to garner information. The Gate still wasn't working, and things still didn't look good. Great. It didn't go beyond her notice that SG-3 and SG-5 didn't check in at all.

Other than a head count, Carter hadn't had a chance to survey the group, and she quickly looked them over. Going on first impressions was dangerous, she knew, but it wasn't like she had a lot of time on her hands for family histories and witty conversations.

The woman, she was afraid, would be the weak link. The exposed skin of her feet was already red and angry, and Sam was sure they hurt like hell, but there wasn't much she could do. She just hoped the woman could suck it up and keep moving.

Ambassador Tremaine hovered over her with concerned eyes, and Sam was divided. Either the ambassador was truly a good-hearted man, trying his best to help one who was obviously hurting, or he was angling for a date as soon as they got back to Earth. But he had put someone else's welfare above his own, and that spoke volumes.

Beside them slumped a man young enough to make Sam wonder how he had ever made it to Washington. He was clearly terrified, sinking deeper into himself with every passing minute, but as long as he could continue to follow instructions, he'd be okay.

The third aide was harder to pin down. He had been quiet, separated from the others, and he didn't radiate the same fear. He was… angry, almost, it seemed. It didn't make sense.

And she could only hope the president had military training of some sort. And a decent head on his shoulders. Otherwise, this was going to get very unpleasant very quickly.

The agent quietly surveyed the other end of their little trench, his MP-5 close to his chest. He looked incredibly uneasy, and she felt the same. They were way too open. And worse…

"Agent," she called softly, just loud enough to catch his attention. "Take watch for a second."

Sam ducked behind one of the fallen trees next to the female aide. "Ma'am," she said softly, already pulling her tactical vest from her shoulders.

"Mary Ann," the woman corrected.

Sam blinked, her earlier conversation with the colonel popping into her mind. "Really?" she asked sharply before she could catch herself, but just shook her head and moved on. "I'm Sam." She doffed the vest and then her jacket and held the camouflaged coat out to the frightened woman. "Put this on for me, please."

"I'm not cold," she said.

"I know that." Sam shot her what she hoped was a reassuring smile and kept her voice light as she joked, "I'm just trying to cover the massive bull's-eye that is that sweater."

"Oh, God." She struggled to cover the bright red she wore with Sam's jacket for a moment as the major easily re-secured her vest and got to her feet.

"Carter! Down!"

Sam's gaze flew to the agent, but he was already firing in her direction – straight at her, in fact. In a move that would have made the directors of _The Matrix_ proud, she threw herself backward, leading with her left shoulder, and flinched as bullets flew just past her ear and pieces of something bit into her face.

Of course, Keanu Reeves recovered gracefully to his feet, and Sam Carter ended up flat on her back in the dirt, but who was counting? Her P-90 was already in her hands as she rolled to her stomach and opened fire on the small patrol of Jaffa. Four of them fell under the combined fire, but the fifth escaped into the woods.

She flew to her feet, half frightened, half pissed as hell. "Everybody okay?" They all seemed to be, and she hauled the president to his feet. "Then let's move. He'll be back. And he'll have friends."


	4. High Man on the Totem Pole

**Chapter Four: High Man on the Totem Pole**

They had been moving quietly for nearly an hour, hiding from two patrols, just barely dodging another, when the agent broke the silence from their six. "Major Carter."

She clenched her jaw and steadfastly ignored the man, trudging on.

"Carter, stop. Now."

Her halt was so abrupt that Sean, the president's youngest aide, nearly ran into her from behind. He could hardly get out of the way fast enough when she spun on her heel and addressed the other man. "What?"

Though she kept her voice low and steady, Sean could practically feel the rage sheeting off the woman, and he took another step back. He had never been this close to a soldier in action, and she scared the ever-living daylights out of him. Not that he wasn't already petrified.

"Do you have a plan," the agent challenged, "or are we just walking for the sake of walking?"

"We're walking," she said stiffly, "because I said so. And we're not stopping until I say so." She spun on her heel and continued on her way. "Move out."

"No."

Ignoring him completely, she called softly to the others, "If you'd like to live, keep moving."

The others willingly followed – except for President Hayes, and that was a problem. She came to a grudging halt and turned back around. "Sir…"

"Unfortunately, Major, we aren't exactly the fittest crowd," President Hayes spoke up. "It seems like conserving our energy is something we should at least talk about."

Her teeth clenched. "No offense, sir, but I'm sure you'll manage. We can't stop here. Or anywhere near here, for that matter."

"Why not?" the agent challenged, and this time he got in her face.

"I don't answer to you," she murmured coldly.

"As the agent in charge here, you do," he ground back.

She took a deep, calming breath, willing herself not to kill the only other person who could handle an automatic weapon. More or less. "Which way is the Gate?" she asked him.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Point to the Stargate."

Agent Riley threw his thumb over his shoulder. "It's back there."

"It's over there," she corrected, pointing to her right. "Southeast of us. And if you recall the map we showed you of this planet, there are pyramids both to the north and west of the Gate, either of which could be holding a mothership. Or both. So we're right in their path, and I'm not okay with that. Are you?"

His jaw tensed. "No."

Feeling a tiny bit bad for making him look like an idiot in front of his boss, she yanked her hat off her head and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "Look, Agent…"

"Riley."

"Agent Riley," she said softly. "I know this sucks. And I know you're probably really, really good at your job, but this is not Washington. You know as well as I do that the Secret Service's idea of wilderness survival training starts and ends with how to eat your PB&J without a napkin, so please. Let me do my job."

"So what is your plan, Major?" The president stepped up close to them, curious.

She sighed. "We're circling the Gate, heading south. We'll keep moving until we can find a reasonably safe spot."

"And wait it out until we can return to the Gate?" the ambassador asked.

"We'll have no way to know when it'll be safe to return. All we can do is hold tight until they find us. But not here."

The third aide, the angry one – the president had called him Joe – stepped up. "What the hell do you mean, no way to know? That's what radios are for."

That was a bit of a sore subject, and the smile she shot him was frighteningly false, angry. She turned back to look at Agent Riley as she spoke. "Yes. And apparently bullets are to shoot them."

President Hayes's jaw hit the ground. "What?"

"That little fire fight back there?" She pulled her radio from its place on her shoulder and held it out to him, battery side up. The battery had clearly been impacted by something, and it was cracked and oozing. "Mister Agent-in-Charge almost killed me."

Abruptly, before she could get angry enough to punch the man for a bullet far too close for comfort, she spun on her heel and resumed her southerly path. "Let's move."


	5. Where There's a Will

**Chapter Five: Where There's a Will**

Movement was painfully slow, avoiding clearings and paths, hiding at the least hint of a patrol. They hadn't traveled far before the sun started to drop in the sky and Sam became even more vigilant, looking not only for danger but for a safe place to camp for the night.

And so it was an unwelcome distraction when the president and Joe flanked her to have a quiet conversation.

"Major, I need to know," Hayes asked softly, "what are our odds?"

"That's not something I can exactly quantify, sir." She allowed herself the tiniest hint of a smile. "But suffice it to say that the Stargate Program has beaten the odds time and time again. We train for the worst-case scenario, sir. We'll pull through this."

"What is our worst-case scenario, exactly?" the aide spoke up.

She glanced at him and didn't answer.

"Major?" he pressed.

"I'd rather not speculate, Mister Turbin."

"I'd like to hear it, too, Major."

The phrase 'glutton for punishment' came to mind, but she kept that to herself. "Mister President, you really don't."

"We deserve to know what we're in for," the aide argued.

She hazarded a look again at the president and saw he wouldn't back down. "Worst case, sir – our men are dead, the Gate is nonfunctional, and Prometheus is down for the count. Which leaves us alone and stuck on this planet for days… months… until the Jaffa find us and kill us."

Turbin's eyes went wide. "That option sucks."

"There's a reason they call it the worst-case scenario," she drawled.

"Okay," Hayes breathed, "what's the second-to-worst-case scenario?"

The question made her smile a bit. "Sir… If you want me to work my way down the list until you find one you approve of, it's a long list. It includes things like… Teal'c getting brainwashed and members of SG-1 getting taken over by Goa'uld and planets with naquadah in their soil turning into enormous bombs. But for every horrible thing we've run into, something just as amazing has happened to pull us out of it."

"For seven years," Hayes mused.

"Yes, sir."

"How have you possibly done this for seven years and not gone completely insane? I don't understand how you can walk through that Gate knowing what awaits you out here."

She paused her scans of their surroundings for a moment to give him a hard look. "Because every morning I wake up and walk into the SGC and look at my team, sir. And every morning I tell myself, 'these are the people who aren't going to let me die today.'"

"But they're on another planet," Turbin argued, "if they're even alive."

She couldn't help it. The small smile turned into a massive grin. "You really think they'd let something as insignificant as death stop them?"


	6. Hi Fi Gilligan

**Chapter Six: Hi Fi Gilligan**

The moonlight on the planet was creepy. President Hayes had to wonder if the double moons were to blame – at home, the moonlight came from one direction; here, it was as if everything was covered in liquid silver, the light shifting and fluttering with the movement of the leaves. It was almost disorienting.

The only real source of light in the camp came from Major Carter's penlight several feet away. He couldn't really see her face, but he knew she held the light tightly between her teeth as she stared down at the electronics before her. Luckily for them, Joe Turbin had been too dumb to leave his cell phone at home, and Carter had stripped the battery from it. It lay terminals-up next to a completely disassembled radio whose guts expanded to an impossibly large space.

With as small a pack as she carried, Hayes couldn't believe she would waste space on a box of electrical tools, but he had changed his mind as he watched her efficiently snip and strip and meter wire after wire.

A branch cracked in the forest, and the small light vanished immediately. Her hand landed on the P-90 at her side, but the rest of her body went completely still as she listened. A leaf rustled, then another, then silence, but she waited several minutes before resuming her work. She took one wire and taped it carefully to one terminal of the phone battery, then touched the second wire to the free terminal.

The red light on the top of the radio lit up like a beacon in the dark, and Hayes couldn't keep his jaw from falling open. Had she really just made a radio battery from a cell phone? He'd read her file – seen the ships she'd help make – but somehow he suddenly didn't think he had given her enough credit.

"Any SG team – repeat: any SG team – this is Carter. Do you copy?"

The soft voice surprised him. If he'd done what she just did, he was pretty sure he'd be leaping for joy, but she was closed off, somber.

"Sam?"

The voice on the other end didn't sound good, even to Hayes, and he noticed Major Carter's forehead crease in concern. "Daniel?"

"I knew you were alive," the other man croaked.

"Daniel, what's the situation back there?"

"Well, we won. I think. If you can call this winning."

"The Gate?" The major winced, and Hayes knew she was a little afraid of the answer.

"Siler fixed it. He says you're out of spares now."

"But… then… why haven't you gone through?"

"Uh… there're a lot more of us on our backs than our feet, Sam. They just took round two out of here. Waiting on round three." His voice was getting weaker by the minute, and the color in Major Carter's face was draining with it.

"Prometheus?"

"Limping home like the rest of us. Massive damage."

"Great," she muttered, though surprisingly, she didn't look terribly upset at the news of the ship – it, he figured, was repaired more easily than her teammates. Hayes was pretty sure she hadn't gotten to the serious questions yet. "Is the Gate secure?"

"Not really. There're patrols everywhere. We're still taking fire."

Well, there went any hope of moving back that direction. She gripped the talk button so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Casualties?"

"Bosco and Penhall." Her head dropped, eyes closed in grief, and the president got the terrible feeling that those were two of the marines who had followed them to the trees. "Mills. Waverly. A lot of Secret Service. And they got Lawrence and Waikert through, but I don't think they'll make it."

When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a whisper, and the older man strained to hear the grief-stricken words. "I wish I could help you, Daniel."

The silence grew long enough that Hayes began to grow seriously concerned about the young man on the other end of the radio transmission, and he let out a small sigh of relief when he spoke again. "Ditto," he said softly. "But I hear you have the… Eagle One."

A small smile crossed her lips at his near slip. "Yeah. And he's okay. I'm up to my eyeballs in civvies out here."

"Backup?"

"No," she said after a brief pause. "I feel pretty damn alone." The president winced at the words, but he knew she was right – she was the only shepherd, and there were far too many wolves after her flock. He already knew she didn't trust Riley, and he couldn't blame her.

"We'll get to you, Sam," the voice promised. The irony of a man who sounded to be on his deathbed promising to rescue them didn't escape the eavesdropper, and he raised an eyebrow in the dim light.

"I know. Daniel… my radio's damaged, and I don't know how long it'll last. Will you be okay?"

"Of course. I don't die, remember?"

The major smiled again, just a tiny bit. "Right. Take care, Daniel."

"You, too. Daniel out."

Sighing heavily, she let the wires fall away from the phone battery and stuck the pieces into her pack for later use.

"Major."

She glanced up in surprise, but still kept her voice low and even. "Mister President, you should be sleeping. You'll need all the rest you can get."

"Major, please, say what you're thinking."

"I can't do that, sir," she answered thoughtfully, shaking her head.

"I think I need to hear it. Please." As brilliant as she was, as good at her job, she was no hardened soldier, and he could tell. She was hurting – because of him – and if she was going to spend the next however long defending him, she needed to get it off her chest. And, he admitted a little, he needed someone to tell him how badly he'd screwed up. Never before had he had a job that so isolated him.

The look she gave him bore straight into his soul, he thought, and he wondered absently what she was searching for there. Luckily, she seemed satisfied. "Those men died to save you, sir."

"I know."

"Just because you decided it had been a little too long since your last field trip."

Ouch. Her voice had a cynical bite to it that he hadn't heard before. "I know."

"You are the president of the United States," she continued, her voice sharp. "You _can_ do anything, and we will defend you. But that doesn't mean you _should_. People like me are supposed to take the front lines so that people like you can sit behind a desk. It's what we both signed up for, sir. A soldier's death is a tragedy, but a president's death imperils the entire nation."

As her anger faded, the grief quickly stepped in. She looked up, blinking hard as a shaky hand ran through her hair. "God, Colonel Reynolds must be going out of his mind right now."

"Who's that?" Hayes asked softly. The name did ring a bell.

"SG-3's leader. He just lost half his team." With an abrupt shake of her head, she turned back to her pack and began to check her weapons, laying one ready and in reach while she stripped, cleaned, and reloaded the other. Her movements were crisp, methodical, and he knew it was something she'd done thousands of times.

"Major Carter."

Her head came up, her hands still, but she didn't turn around.

"Major Carter, I'm sorry. For being an idiot. And I'm even sorrier that those boys died for it."

She considered that for a moment – or at least he hoped she did – before going back to her weapons. "Get some sleep."


	7. Gilligan Goes Gung Ho

**Chapter Seven: Gilligan Goes Gung-Ho**

The sun was high in the sky the next day when Carter's hand came stiffly up, bringing the whole group to a halt. "Take cover," she said very, very softly. "I'll be back."

Slowly, carefully, she crept along the trees to the road that had caused her such alarm. If she was right about their location, this had to be the road that led from the Stargate to the pyramid due west. They had to cross one of those roads, whatever direction she'd chosen, but she hadn't been looking forward to it.

It was the most dangerous hundred feet they could cross.

Close to the road, she dropped to her elbows and crawled the rest of the way, barely sticking her head out from the underbrush. The road was clear.

Riley was looking at her, but she motioned for him to stay back as she gathered herself and hurried across the road to the brush on the other side. She scouted a while before carefully making her way back to where the others hid.

"This part's gonna be rough, guys," she murmured softly to them. "Until I tell you otherwise, no one says a word, okay?"

They nodded mutely. No one had a whole lot to say, anyway.

"We're gonna move up to the brush line and stop. Me first, you follow, Riley last. Stay low, stay quiet. Once we're all together and the road is clear, I'll cross, then I'll signal you. Low and quiet, okay?"

They nodded again, and she set out along the same lines she had before. Once they joined her, she skittered across the road and again checked the safety of the woods across the way before motioning for them to join her.

They were almost – almost – out of what Carter considered the hot zone when she heard the familiar clank of metal on metal. "Down!" she hissed, her P-90 already in her hands as she whirled around. Riley ducked behind the nearest tree, firing his own weapon at the Jaffa patrol, but Sam had no such cover.

The first staff blast missed her, and she neatly dropped that Jaffa, but the second blast caught the soft flesh just above her hip and knocked her off her feet. Her vision blacked momentarily as her head slammed into the rocks behind her, and she just couldn't seem to make anything work. She struggled to sit up, grab her weapon, resume firing – do _something _– but her body wouldn't listen.

She knew she'd dropped one man, but there were four more in the patrol, and she could still hear the staff blasts against the chatter of the MP-5. She had to get up. She had to.

"It's okay, Major." The hissed voice was Ambassador Tremaine, who had crept up to lie beside her, and he swiftly unclipped the P-90 from her vest and took it. "Point and shoot, right?"

"Right," she croaked weakly, and a second weapon joined the battle. The staff blasts diminished, then again, and finally the world went silent.

"Mister President, sir!" It was Riley's voice, and then everything dissolved into shouting and rustling and spinning movement.

"I'm okay. Everybody okay?"

"She's been shot!" Tremaine called. "I need help over here!"

"We need to move," Riley ordered. "Go, go, go!"

"Major Carter, I need to get you up," the ambassador warned, and she moaned as he pulled at her arm.

"Let's go, ambassador!" Hands appeared in her narrow line of vision, yanking at the man's coat. Riley was going to take off without her.

"Son of a bitch," she mumbled, her head falling back limply to strike the ground a second time.

"No, John." Then she was being yanked on again, from the other side, and Tremaine helped, pulling her to her feet. "We're not leaving her here."

She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, and she finally managed to force herself to look left, channeling her tunnel vision to the unknown man at her side. "Mister President?" she gasped.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "You're gonna be okay, Major. It's all gonna be okay."


	8. Gilligan's Personal Magnetism

**Chapter Eight: Gilligan's Personal Magnetism**

Sam was vaguely impressed as she gained coherence that Agent Riley had chosen to stop in an area that didn't suck. For once. They were deep in a narrow ravine, covered by dense underbrush, and while they were still way, way too close to the main road, it would work for the moment.

She finally removed Ambassador Tremaine's bumbling hands from her pack and grabbed for the QuikClot combat gauze, tearing it open and pressing it to the wound in her side. She let him take over then, gently wrapping the straps around her middle to tie it in place. "You feeling better?" he asked softly. "You look a little more with it now."

"Yeah." She answered him carefully, fully aware that every person there was listening to her answer. "This is nothing. I'll be fine."

His ministrations had put his face close to hers, and she found herself inches from the dark, concerned pools of his eyes. "You weren't fine back there."

"I know. That was actually my head, though," she reassured him with a smile. "I hit it hard when I fell. I feel a lot better now." Her head felt clearer by the second, in fact, although the easing fuzziness just gave way to dull throbbing in her head and searing, screaming pain in her side.

"I'm reaching here, Major, but I'd really like you to tell me that the Jaffa aren't good at tracking people."

The wryness in the president's voice struck her as amusing, and she smiled at him in an attempt to keep it light. Or maybe the pain was just making her crazy. "You mean you didn't manage to bury the bodies in the split second I was unconscious? Sir, I'm disappointed."

"So that's a yes," he surmised gravely. "They're coming for us."

"They will be. If everyone's okay, let's keep moving."

"The ravine seems to head south," Riley put in, looking decidedly unhappy with her. "Let's stay covered, for now."

"Great." He was learning. She struggled to her feet with help from the ambassador and the young aide, and Sean picked up her pack while Tremaine handed back her P-90. Checking it over, she clumsily reattached it to her vest and shot him a surprised look. "You reloaded?"

"I… figured it out."

"A man of many talents, I see," she answered softly, and he looked away, embarrassed.

"Yeah, well, I…"

Now the slowest of the group, she let Riley take the lead through the underbrush (just for a bit, she told herself) and fell in behind the group. "Ambassador."

He approached her wounded side, ready to support her, and she put a careful, light hand on his arm – it helped her figure out which way was up, no matter how the world was spinning.

"Thank you."

"For what?" He looked genuinely surprised.

She rolled her eyes. All the men she knew were as dense as naquadah. "For the last twenty-five minutes of my life. Which really could have been the _last_ twenty-five minutes of my life."

Staring at the ground, he shrugged, and she thought he might be a little embarrassed. "Oh. That. Right."

Yup. Dense as naquadah with the verbal skills of a Tibetan monk. Whatever her magnetic force was, it needed some major adjustments.


	9. The Chain of Command

**Chapter Nine: The Chain of Command**

They were still in the ravine, and Sam was praying Riley had been right about it heading south. The small amount of time she had been out of it was more than enough to make her lose her bearings, and without a clear visual on the sun, she was operating on blind faith. She could only hope they weren't heading straight for one of the pyramids… err, landing pads… err… wherever a lot of Jaffa came from.

Damn, her head hurt.

Her side, fortunately, had hit a level of nerve damage high enough that it didn't bother her much. While she was pretty sure that wasn't actually a good thing, she still had feeling in her fingers and both feet, and she plugged along, both hands clutching her P-90 when she didn't need them to help her navigate the terrain. She'd never been one for motion sickness, but between the land and her injuries, she really, really wanted to vomit.

"What if they don't find us?"

The voice was soft, frightened, and she glanced up to where Sean walked just in front of her, beside the president.

Joe Turbin, always the idiot, responded sharply, "Isn't that a good thing?"

"I didn't mean the Jaffa," the young man corrected. "I meant… what if…"

"They'll find us," Sam assured him softly.

"But how can you know?"

Ambassador Tremaine gave him a gentle smile. "Because the man you're walking next to is the president of the United States, son."

"But they… they might not even know we're still alive."

"He has a point." Mary Ann couldn't really look up from where she was carefully picking her way through the terrain – Sam thought she was damned lucky she hadn't broken an ankle yet – but she sped up a bit to join the conversation. "It's been two days, and there's been no sign of rescue. You haven't even gotten anybody on the radio today."

She had a point, and Sam winced a bit, but she held her ground. "They're not done looking yet. Trust me."

"The press must be in a panic," Turbin put in in his typically unhelpful fashion.

"I've been missing for weeks before, and they kept looking," the major insisted. "This is nothing."

"Yeah, but you're not the president. The press knows how he spends every minute of every day. How the hell do you think they're handling this? We'll be lucky if the entire country hasn't rioted by the time we get back. God only knows what kind of cover story they're trying to make up right now. And without the president actually there, able to run the country-"

Sam stopped dead in her tracks as it all fell into place. "Oh, my God," she declared with a severity and horror that collected all of their gazes. "Kinsey."

"Major?" the president asked warily.

"With you gone, sir, Kinsey's in charge."

"Congratulations, Major, you just passed fourth grade social studies," Turbin snarked.

"I'm sorry, when I'm being shot at, the political implications aren't generally my first concern," she retorted, then added to herself, "my God, I can't believe I didn't think of that."

President Hayes winced. "Major Carter, I know how you – your team – your agency – feels about the vice president. And I know what you said to Colonel Reynolds back there, that this was an ambush. But I can't believe Bob would do this. I just can't."

The ambassador cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Respectfully, Mister President, I can't think of a better plan for a power-hungry vice president who hates the SGC. He gets everything he's spent all this time fighting for. He becomes president, and the political fallout of your death will let him do just about anything he wants to the Stargate Program."

"That's insane," Turbin put in. "He would never do that. You're just out to make him look bad."

All eyes swung to him, but Carter spoke first. "Whose Kool-Aid have _you _been drinking?" she drawled.

"I just… he wouldn't…" But he looked like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and Sam was happy to see that the president's appraisal of him had turned suspicious.

"Mister President," she said solemnly, matter-of-factly, and she waited until she had his full attention to continue. "It will surprise you to know that even my brain hadn't gotten that far. All I was thinking was that I had to get you back alive so that Kinsey wouldn't take over. The conspiracy theories came from your head, not mine."

"Major-"

"And respectfully, sir," she interrupted, "that should say something to you – that you thought of it first. Because you're right. I would love to pin this on him. I despise the man."

When Mary Ann spoke again, her voice shook a little. "If we're missing long enough… if they declare him dead… they'll stop looking."

"No," Sam assured her. "They won't."

"But if the vice president is in charge, they may not have a choice."

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "There's always a choice. It's not always legal, but it's always there." She met the woman's eyes concretely, showing no doubt, no fear. "As long as they are physically capable, Colonel O'Neill and General Hammond and my team will find me. All we have to do is survive."


	10. Saint Gilligan and the Dragon

**Chapter Ten: Saint Gilligan and the Dragon**

The ravine ended before the sunlight did, and when they emerged, Sam realized they had turned more east than south. She wasn't sure she liked that, but then again, she wasn't sure she didn't. There was a possibility that the turn put them further north and much closer to the Gate than she wanted to be; then again, if they were far enough south, east was the direction they wanted to be heading, anyway.

But it wasn't like she had anyone to confer with on the matter, and she had learned the hard way that weakness on her part caused nothing but panic. They were where they were, she supposed, and she said nothing.

Until an odd pull in her blood made her shiver, and she stopped the group. "Get down," she said softly, "and wait here."

They were around. They were close, she could feel it. And finally, she saw it – one armored foot sticking out from behind a fallen branch. She went to investigate and found a single fallen Jaffa. He had been taken down by a staff weapon blast, and she didn't know if that made her feel better or worse.

"He's dead," a voice said from behind her, and she spun to see Riley.

"Didn't I say to stay put?" she asked, but the others were already gathering around.

"They're not so scary up close," the ambassador murmured.

"Really? I was just thinking they were much worse that way," Mary Ann contradicted.

Joe Turbin leaned down, but Sam touched his shoulder to stop him. "Stay away," she ordered.

"He's dead," Riley repeated, a little louder. "And it looks like friendly fire."

She shook her head. "First, he's not dead. And second, that 'friendly fire' thing opens up a bunch of cans of worms I didn't really want to think about."

"What do you mean, he's not dead?" the president asked.

"The symbiote inside him is still alive, and likely keeping him that way. Though with a staff wound like that... he probably won't recover."

"Amazing." Turbin leaned down again, and this time Sam shoved him away, but keeled over at the searing pain it caused her.

"I said stay back," she hissed. When she had quelled the pain and nausea enough to stand back up straight, she checked to make sure the Jaffa's eyes were closed and pointed south. "We need to go that way. We need to move until it's dark." Which, unfortunately, wouldn't be long.

"Who do you think killed him?" Ambassador Tremaine asked.

"If we're very, very lucky… Teal'c. Or a stray blast." Holding her side tightly against the pain, she stumbled doggedly south, and they followed.

"And if we're not so lucky?" Sean called softly from behind her.

"Then he was a rebel Jaffa trying to help us, and shot as a traitor," she volunteered, biting her lip, not even wanting to consider the other option, "or we just stepped into the middle of a turf war."


	11. Gilligan vs Gilligan

**Chapter Eleven: Gilligan vs. Gilligan**

What a mess.

Henry Hayes looked out at his camp of tired, worried people and chastised himself once again for putting them in such a horrible situation. After two solid days of running, Mary Ann Goggins sat wearily on a log, staring at but not touching her red, blistered feet. Tremaine, of course, was right beside her, offering consolation, while Sean Avery cowered a bit behind them. He was far, far too young to die, Hayes thought.

Joe Turbin was sifting through Major Carter's pack, looking for something, though the president had no idea what, and Agent Riley sat a bit apart from them, watching, listening, trying his damndest to make himself useful.

"Are we ready?" Hayes asked softly. He got multiple weary looks, but they all eventually nodded, and he knelt beside Carter. Even in sleep, her face was creased in pain, and he seriously considered letting her slumber another few hours, but dismissed the idea. "Major."

She snapped awake immediately, tense. "Sir?"

"No emergency, Major. But the sun's up, and so are we. I thought you'd like me to wake you."

It took a minute for the words to penetrate through the haze of sleep, but she nodded. "Thank you."

"Let me help you." He took her arm and ever so gently eased her to sitting, trying to ignore the whispered groan at the tearing, stabbing sensation in her side. She pulled her feet beneath her to stand, and he adjusted his grip, but her arm suddenly went tense in his hand.

"Mister President?"

"Major?"

"Have you left camp?"

The older man gave her a gentle, wrinkled smile. "I might have snuck away once, yes. Nature and all."

"But that's all?" Her eyes were doing that thing again – searching deep, deep down for something.

"That's all," he promised.

"Okay."

He helped her to her feet, not missing the subtle grab for her sidearm on her way up. She kept it down, discrete, but ready. "Major?" he asked, unsure, and trying not to draw any more attention to it than necessary.

"Mister President," she answered, softly enough that no one else could hear her, "step behind me, please, and stay there."

Though he didn't understand, he could tell by the look in her eyes and the tension in her frame that it was important, and he casually moved to put her between himself and the others in the camp. Something was very, very wrong… and he only wished he had a clue what it was.

"Agent Riley," she called, a little louder, "who's left the camp since you took watch?"

"Well, I imagine we all have, at some point or another. To find a tree?" He looked amused.

"And in doing, who was gone for over, say, two minutes?" When he just narrowed his eyes at her, she pressed on. "I need names. Now."

"Um… I'm sure I was gone longer than that," Mary Ann spoke up, gingerly getting to her feet. The others followed suit nervously. "And I know Joe was, too. Is something wrong?"

"Yes." The major's eyes flickered anxiously between the woman and Joe Turbin, finally settling on the latter as she ordered, "Mary Ann, come here, please." The younger woman stepped toward her, and Sam motioned her forward, never taking her eyes off the other man. "Closer."

"Major, what the hell is going on?" Agent Riley spoke up. She just held up a hand to silence him, and behind her, the president shook his head at the man.

Sam beckoned the woman closer, closer, until they were almost touching. She waited for the pull she felt to intensify with the woman's proximity, but it didn't, and she gave a short nod. "Mary Ann, step back with the president, please."

"Major Carter?" Ten feet away, Joe Turbin never let her gaze drop, but took a step toward her – and the president. Immediately, her sidearm was up, ready, aimed directly at his face. The sudden movement sent spikes of pain shooting through the damaged tissue in her torso, and she clamped her jaw against it. She shook badly, but the gun stayed up. She would not fail.

"Stop," she ordered, halting his advance.

Agent Riley's weapon leveled on her just as quickly. "Major Carter, lower your weapon."

"John," Hayes warned softly, "a little latitude, please?"

"You went to see that Jaffa, didn't you?" Sam accused softly. "Why?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Turbin replied calmly – too calmly for a man who had a gun to his head.

"Did you think you could control it? Capture it? What, does Kinsey want it for some little side project? Or are you just that dumb?" When he didn't answer, she picked the last option for him with a huff. "You idiot."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Major."

"Yes. What are you talking about?" Riley hadn't lowered his weapon, but his finger had loosened a bit on the trigger. She didn't seem to be a danger to the president, though he couldn't vouch for anyone else's safety at the moment.

She ignored him. "You know," she told the aide, "with a genetic memory, you think you'd learn. Eventually. But you guys just never do."

In his eyes, she could see the moment that realization struck – perhaps the moment that he sensed her, as well. "You were once host to a Goa'uld," he said simply.

Her head bowed in acknowledgement. "So I'm the one person you can't hide from."

Behind her, the president gasped a little. "Major…"

The sound made her glance to the left, and the Goa'uld seized his chance, drawing the knife he'd pulled from her pack and rushing her. He got no more than two steps before she fired three neat rounds high through the center of his chest into his spine, and he fell, his surprised eyes flashing in proof in the second before they slipped closed.

"Oh, my God," Riley exclaimed at the sight. The others were not so composed, crying and clutching each other in shock at the death of their friend. President Hayes let Mary Ann wrap her arms around him, but he stared open-mouthed at the man on the ground, deeply unsettled. Their newest enemy could masquerade as anyone. God help them.

Sam kept her weapon trained on the body until well after she was sure it was dead, but she couldn't stop the shudder as she took a deep breath. Her situation was growing worse by the second, and with no CO to give her orders, she tamped down the pain and uncertainty and made a decision. "Line up," she ordered softly.

"What?" Ambassador Tremaine asked.

"Line up," she spat, pointing to a spot on the ground in front of her. "Right here. Now."

The president moved first, taking his aide with him, and the other three gathered around him. Major Carter looked at them all, meeting each of their eyes, and her own were as cold as ice. "That was sheer stupidity," she snapped, and they started at her tone. No one had spoken to Hayes that way since basic training, and he met her gaze evenly. "And all because I gave an order he didn't obey. So let me remind you that I have only objective right now – to get the president safely back to the SGC. The rest of you are a bonus. Civilian or not, from now on, we do things _my_ way. Rule number one: what I say goes. With no argument. Period. Rule number two: _no one_ wanders off alone. Violators of either rule will be shot without question. Is that clear?"

Three stunned, frightened faces stared back at her, mitigated by one full of anger and the president's, eyes wide with understanding. "Yes," he said softly.

"Is that clear?" she barked at the rest of them. They nodded and mumbled, and only when she accepted each one's answer did she look away from the group, getting straight in Riley's face. "You could have saved that man from a horrible fate, and you didn't. Now, you can help me, or you can hand over your weapon. It's your choice."

"You can't do this by yourself," he answered softly. The anger faded, and she could swear she caught an apology in his gaze.

Abruptly, she stepped back and addressed the group again. "Gather your gear. We're moving out."

The others broke off, but President Hayes moved straight for her. "Are you okay to travel?" he asked softly. "You must be in terrible pain. And you're getting very pale."

Well, he hadn't mentioned that she was shaking, so she hoped maybe that part felt worse than it looked. "We don't have a choice, sir. We have no way to know what he did or who he contacted while he was a Goa'uld. And if he managed that, then they know you're here."

Hayes swallowed hard and went to get his jacket, and Sam mentally kicked herself. She was so tired of running – all of them were. When would it stop?


	12. Ring Around Gilligan

**Chapter Twelve: Ring Around Gilligan**

At least her hearing was unaffected. Her hands were shaky and freezing, her vision blurred, and her mouth was dry as sand and tasted vaguely of copper after her last coughing fit, but damn it, she'd hear them coming a mile away. Whether she could do anything about it or not was kind of up in the air.

Okay, her sense of smell was just fine, too. Unfortunately, the 'forest fresh air' scent was fighting a losing battle with 'hey, we haven't showered in two days' and 'vaguely burning human flesh.' It wasn't calming her stomach even a little bit.

Her toe hit a rock and she lurched forward, stopped only by the solid hands of Ambassador Tremaine and young Sean Avery. Poor kid. "Thanks," she breathed.

"Do you need to stop?" the ambassador asked, concerned.

She resolutely shook her head. "I'll stop when I'm dead."

"That's what I'm vaguely afraid of."

"Yeah, well," she puffed weakly, "'till then." Distracted, she missed another step, and this time she ended up on her elbows and knees in the dirt. The sudden motion upset her stomach, and she lost what little they'd found to eat. But the hands simply waited until she was in control and pulled her upright yet again.

"You know what?" Tremaine said softly, his hand staying firmly on her upper arm and giving is a squeeze. "I'm just gonna leave this here. For now."

"Sounds like a plan."


	13. It's a Bird, It's a Plane

**Chapter Thirteen: It's a Bird, It's a Plane**

"There." Carter pointed to a rocky outcropping at the base of a deep ridge. "Rest."

"We'd be cornered," Riley countered.

"Well, sure. But they'd only be able to come at us from two sides. And anyone atop the ridge wouldn't be able to see us from above."

"Rest sounds good to me," Ambassador Tremaine spoke up. "No offense, Major."

"None taken." He had been holding her most of her weight for the last three hours, and she was immensely grateful… if cold, sweaty, in pain, and just generally cranky. "Bet you're glad I didn't eat breakfast."

"I have to confess," he said softly, conspiratorially, as they headed for the overhang, "I'm kinda glad it was you that got shot and not Riley. I'm not convinced I could've carried his fat butt around this long."

"I heard that," a sullen voice said from behind them.

She started to laugh, which turned to a coughing fit, and Tremaine held her tightly as she balled up in pain. "God," she choked.

"I'm sorry," the ambassador winced. "I won't joke around anymore."

"No, it's fine," she insisted through clenched teeth as she struggled for breath. "It's what I'm used to, actually. It helps."

"Hey, there's water here," the president spoke up, pointing to a small stream from the rocks.

"Oh, yeah. Love this spot." The words turned into a moan as Tremaine carefully lowered her to sit against a rock. She pressed her face against the cool surface, desperately trying to bring her thought patterns back into focus. "Everybody rest for a few. Riley, I need to talk to you."

The others meandered, some fetching water while others sank to the ground, grateful for the rest. Riley kept his weapon in hand as he perched next to her, back to the stone, keeping careful watch. He knew as well as she did that her usefulness was fading.

"You win," Sam told him, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Win? There's winning?" he shot back.

"Fair enough. I'm losing. Fast." She tried to take a deep breath, but the shooting pain made it hard, and she clamped a hand to her side. "I'll just slow you down."

The agent looked at her hard, and she knew that somewhere in that god-forsaken forest she'd won at least a little of his respect. "We've come a long way, Major."

"Yes, we have. The ambassador can probably handle my P-90," she instructed, and pointed off to her right. "The Gate is that way… I think. But I have no idea how far. I'm sorry." The weight of her massive failure was crushing, and she let her head fall into the palm of her hand.

"Hey," Riley censured softly, "they can see you. Buck up."

"Right." She was blinking fast to keep the tears at bay, but she painfully raised her head. "We haven't seen any hint of a patrol in hours. I really think if you can get to the Gate, you'll be okay. Someone should be there, but I'll give you my G-"

"Hey, do you guys hear that?" The excitement in Sean's voice got everyone's attention, and they all started talking at once. "No, hey, quiet," the young man ordered. They quieted, and he looked rather surprised at himself.

But Sam heard it, too – a faint buzz. "It's the UAV," she gasped, letting her head fall back in relief. "Oh, God bless that man."

"UAV? What's that?" the ambassador asked.

"It's the little plane that was overhead when we got here. It's reconnaissance – it relays video back to the SGC," Riley explained.

"It's looking for us," Sam mumbled.

"Is there a way to signal it?" the president asked. "The radio?"

"Radio's dead." But her brow was wrinkled, and Hayes knew she was formulating an idea as she glanced at the ridge above them, the trees, then settled her gaze on Mary Ann. "I'm gonna need your sweater," she said, "and someone who can climb."

~/~

It was nearly an hour later when Sean descended from the tallest tree in the area. "It's done," he panted.

"So what now?" the ambassador asked.

Riley glanced at Carter, pale, covered in sweat, running out of time, and answered for her. "Now we wait."


	14. Forget Me Not

**Chapter Fourteen: Forget Me Not**

"Major Carter?"

Sam opened her eyes to see the president standing over her with her canteen. "Sir?"

"I thought you should have some water. Let me help you," he said, but she shook her head.

"Sir, you don't need to do that."

"Please." He pulled her up a bit and helped her sip slowly from the canteen. She shuddered as he returned her gently to her makeshift pillow, and he quickly doffed his suit coat and covered her torso.

The movement had cost her a lot, and she could only smile her thanks.

"How are you holding up?"

Her eyebrows twitching slightly, she simply glanced at him and then returned her attention to their unguarded side. He got the point.

"I… see." He set a gentle hand on her shoulder in support, falling into a companionable silence as the sun set over the trees. It was nearly dark when he spoke again. "Major, I wanted you to know… The men who died – a letter isn't enough. Their families deserve more than that."

"You can't tell them anything, sir," she breathed.

"I can tell them that their sons, their husbands, died saving my life. I can hand them the Purple Heart medals personally. And I can only hope that will mean something."

A tired grin slowly crept across her face, and he balked a little. "Major, what's so funny?"

"Don't tell my dad."

"Major? I thought it was your father who was the Tok'ra. Wouldn't he understand more than anyone?"

Her voice shook with effort as she forced a reply. "Yes, sir. He'd understand. And he'd throttle you for this."

He blinked hard at that, a small, sad smile on his lips. "Well, I don't plan to have to tell him, because I don't plan for you to die here, Major. In fact, I'm thinking about making it an order. Can I do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He swallowed hard. "Then it's an order. You hang in there."


	15. Topsy Turvy

**Chapter Fifteen: Topsy-Turvy**

Sam hovered just on the brink of oblivion and wished more than anything that she could let herself fall over the edge. The hole in her side radiated sharp pain through her entire torso, and it didn't stop there. Her head throbbed – the severely blurred vision didn't help – and she trembled uncontrollably. Try as they might, they could not keep her warm. She was pretty sure she was septic, and that was bad.

But the president was still alive, and they were still stuck on the hellhole that was P4C-223, and she would not let go. At least, not until the bacteria in her blood gave her no choice.

She was pretty sure that the hand that tenderly mopped the sweat from her face was Mary Ann, the female aide, but she couldn't be sure. She hadn't opened her eyes in several hours.

Suddenly, the gentle hand stopped, tense, and Carter opened her eyes, trying her damndest to bring the world into focus as her aching fingers tightened around her sidearm. Ambassador Tremaine had taken her P-90 at her own insistence – it was too heavy for her to lift. She hoped he was paying attention.

Figures stepped out of the trees and into the clearing, and she brought her weapon up to aim at them – well, one of them. And if she were honest with herself, she didn't know if it was really the person or one of the multiples her screwed-up vision was creating. She would only get one shot; the weapon's recoil would knock it from her weak hands for sure.

"Stand down, Major."

Her breath caught at the familiar voice. "Sir?" she croaked.

"Yeah, Carter. It's over." He knelt beside her and pressed two fingers gently to her neck, feeling her thready pulse, but he was already moving on to his next objectives. "Mister President, sir. Are you okay?"

The older man struggled to his feet and was swiftly surrounded by SG-12 and SG-15. SG-9 held the perimeter with Teal'c. "Yes. We're fine."

"Good. Everybody on your feet; we're moving out. Grogan, get Carter up." Jack's eyes were already on the trees, scanning for danger.

"Cot, sir?" Grogan asked.

"No. I want as many hands on weapons as possible."

"Yes, sir." The young man reached for her arm to pull her up, but Jack grabbed his shoulder.

"Easy," he warned, then glanced at his pale teammate. "Sorry, Carter."

"S'okay, sir," she whispered, but wailed in pain as the young man pulled her to her feet, ducking to haul her arm over his shoulder. President Hayes pushed past the men surrounding him and grabbed her other arm, supporting her.

"Mister President," Jack interrupted, and he waited until the other man made eye contact to continue. "I would assume that in your time with Major Carter, she impressed upon you the need for a solid defensive position."

"Yes."

The colonel nodded. "Great. Then you understand that your place, sir, is back there," he said, pointing toward SG-12, "with Agent Riley and the two SG teams assigned to protect you."

The president looked incredibly unsure, divided between his loyalty to the injured major and the truth in Colonel O'Neill's words. "I owe her my life," he protested softly, solemnly.

Jack couldn't stop a smile. "So do I – so do all of us. And we take care of our own."

Reluctantly, Hayes gently let go and stepped back into his circle of protection. Grogan swiftly bent and hefted the major easily over his shoulders, wincing at her ragged groan of protest. "I'm ready, sir," he said.

"Move out," O'Neill ordered, and as they moved, he fell in beside the woman wearing Carter's tightly-zipped fatigue jacket. "The red shirt thing was nice. Stuck out like a sore thumb up there."

"It wasn't my idea," she mumbled back, and Jack got the hint. "How far to the Stargate, Colonel?"

"Less than half a mile," he assured her. He skipped two steps and dropped back to Grogan. "You doing okay?"

"Yes, sir. She doesn't weigh anything."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean you, Grogan. Carter?"

But he didn't get an answer, and when he glanced over, her head was hanging limply from his shoulder. He gently tucked her hair behind her ear and murmured softly, "You did good, Carter."

To his credit, Grogan didn't even give him a sideways glance. He just shifted the major's weight carefully across his shoulders and marched staunchly toward the Gate.


	16. Mine Hero

**Chapter Sixteen: Mine Hero**

President Hayes's confident stride broke as he reached the final closed door before his destination. He considered knocking, but decided he didn't know what good that would do and finally just pushed the door open.

Major Carter lay in the center of the room in a hospital bed, just as pale as she'd been the day they brought her through the Stargate. But he'd been assured that her fever had broken and she would heal quickly, and he tried to ignore the gray in her complexion.

Colonel O'Neill sat quietly next to the bed, his back to the door, and Hayes watched him for a moment. Well, not him – the way his hand rested on the bed just next to hers, their littlest fingers barely touching. The way his forehead wrinkled ever so slightly in concern. The way he tensed just the tiniest bit every time she stirred. It was… interesting, and a far cry from the tough as nails military man he'd seen on that planet.

"Colonel," he said softly.

The man let out a sigh he thought held a hint of annoyance as he turned around, but recognition flashed in his eyes and he immediately leapt to his feet. "Sir," he said, snapping to attention.

"That's not necessary, Colonel," Hayes assured him, and Jack settled into parade rest. "They told me she would probably wake up today."

"It wouldn't surprise me, sir. She's a lot better."

"But nothing yet?"

"No, sir. Then again, she hasn't been disturbed."

The president matched the colonel's smile with one of his own. "I take it you've seen to that."

"Yes, sir. She deserves the rest."

Major Carter moaned softly, and the colonel was at her bedside in an instant. Only when he was certain that she wasn't going to open her eyes did he turn back.

"Colonel, I'm going to see to it that Major Carter and Agent Riley get every commendation I can throw at them," he promised softly. "The same goes for your dead officers."

The younger man ran a hand through his hair. "Mister President, sir… She doesn't do it for the commendations. None of us do. I just… I really hope you understand now why it's so important that the Stargate stay with us. Why we have to fight this war. Because they threaten everything that means anything."

"You know, Colonel," Hayes said thoughtfully, "the vice president is right about one thing – what's out there is worse than anything I ever imagined. But I can't think that sticking our fingers in our ears and pretending not to know is going to keep us safe. I didn't know enough about this command to tell him to shove it – not then. And then I spent three days in a battle zone on an alien planet with Major Carter, and I think I've seen enough."

"Mister President –"

"Sir?"

The soft, hoarse voice caught both men off guard, and they hurried toward the bed. "Hey, Gilligan," Jack greeted softly.

Her eyes were half-lidded in fatigue, but the confusion was evident. "Sir?"

"Y'know, the three-hour… Forget it. You have a visitor, Carter."

"Yeah?" She slowly swept her gaze down to the foot of the bed. "Mister President," she croaked.

A gentle, fatherly smile crossed his face, and he patted her leg. "I think you can call me Henry, don't you?"

Even injured and exhausted, that one baffled her. "No, sir."

Jack couldn't hold back a chuckle. "She's nowhere near that far gone, sir."

"Ah. Well. I just wanted to tell you… thank you. And to ask if there's anything I can do."

"We need… the Gate, sir."

"It's already done, Major. The Stargate Program isn't going anywhere. Vice President Kinsey may be another story."

"Thank you," she breathed.

"Don't mention it. But Major – I owe you my life eight or nine times over, and I won't forget that. Some day, when you need a favor…" He didn't really know how to finish that sentence, and he looked away. "Anything. Please."

"Yes, sir." She blinked with great effort, then again, and her eyes didn't reopen. President Hayes turned his gaze to Jack.

"I mean that. I don't take you people lightly."

"We appreciate that, sir."

One last time, he studied the woman in the hospital bed. "How long until she's saving the world again?"

"Oh, the docs say four weeks," Colonel O'Neill answered, leading the older man out of the room. "But it's Carter, so my money's on two."

"That's insane."

"Uh-huh. If you've got five bucks and a guess, sir, there's a pool going."

Chuckling, President Hayes just shook his head and walked away.


End file.
